Fever Dream
by Violent-Tendencies
Summary: If no one found him soon, this desert would be the end of him. Surely someone was looking for him in this endless, arid wasteland. Surely someone had noticed his absence. After all, what good is your team without a Sniper? One-shot; Sniper/Spy.


Well, it's been something to the tune of eight years since I've written any fanfiction. Hiatuses: go big or go home. Or both.

Anyway, just a short drabble with some Sniper/Spy (possibly one-sided) to slake my lust. I'm always looking for critiques, particularly on a fic this unclear. Please feel free to hit me up with any questions, comments, or concerns.

Thanks, and enjoy.

* * *

How long had he been out here?

His camping trip had only been about three days, then the sand storm kicked up and then…. Could it really have been a week? Longer? Had no  
one noticed his absence? Had these men he had fought and died alongside moved on without him? Had they forgotten? Had they replaced him?

Now's not the time, the Sniper reminds himself. Just got to find the van.

The van would provide shelter from the heat and the cold as well as supplies, ammunition, and transport out of this desert hellhole. It  
was south of here. Or maybe it was west. He needed a drink. He needed one so bad. He was so goddamn thirsty.

How long had he been out here?

In the distance Sniper makes out the silhouette of…something. Too small to be the van but too big to be a single person. A search party?

Sniper cautiously moves toward it. What if it's the BLUs? What if they heard that RED's sniper was stupid enough to foray into this new  
desert alone, and now they're here to finish what harsh nature has begun? Here, in this arid wasteland, far enough from Respawn to ensure  
no revenge kills.

Sniper begins moving faster despite the heat and the thirst and the sand. As he approaches the figure, his vision brings into focus neither BLUs nor REDs but green. It's a cactus. A single flowering cactus.

Water.

The Sniper removes from his vest a jack-knife and from his back pocket, a bandana. He begins carving out the flesh of the cactus. He  
carefully removes the skin and places the sticky core in the fabric. He is so careful that he does not spill a single drop of the precious  
fluid he slowly squeezes free; he is so careful he does not hear the cactus's displeased neighbor.

A flash of movement in the Sniper's periphery causes him to recoil just out of the creature's range.

"A pit viper," Sniper hisses as the rattling grows louder. He removes his kukri from his belt and takes a step aside, placing his cactus  
concoction on the ground beside him. "No sense in wasting this while I make a meal out of ya."

Even in his heat-induced delirium, Sniper knows that every foe is worth at least a moment's scrutiny: to understand the ebb and flow of  
his movements, his patterns, and then strike. Another flash of motion and the snake falls in a headless pile at the Sniper's feet.

"That'll show ya," he says, feeling suddenly exhausted. His kukri feels so heavy in his hand. Had it really been so long since he last  
held it? Since he last fought with it?

"How long have you been out here?" A familiar voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Spy?" Sniper whips around breathlessly.

"But of course. I have been looking for you for some time, you know."

Sniper begins rushing toward him, squashing his bandana along the way. "I was beginning to think I'd made my grave out here."

"How embarrassing," Spy chortles, "a desert survivalist that cannot survive in the desert."

The Sniper smiles weakly when he reaches him. "Yeah, well, next time I'll plan for natural disasters." He suddenly feels light-headed.

"Sniper?" The Sniper is falling to his knees when Spy catches him, but the force is too great, and they fall to the ground together. "I see  
that you are fatigued." Spy adjusts himself so that the Sniper's head rests comfortably in his lap.

"I'm just so tired." Sniper closes his eyes. He notes fleetingly that the Spy's lap is much harder than he had imagined.

Spy begins stroking his forehead. His hands feel rough and cold against him, but their movement is swift and graceful. "You should  
rest now."

"Take off your gloves." Sniper wonders if he has actually verbalized the request or if he is simply the victim of heat-exhaustion.

Perhaps both.

The Spy's face expresses mild shock that melts into a smile that Sniper has never seen outside the realm of fantasy. Sniper feels a  
warmth spread across his chest.

"Remove my gloves?" The Spy smiles so kindly upon him. "For you, Monsieur Mundy, anything." So kindly.

"How…how do you know my name?" The Sniper's eyelids grow heavier, his breathing more labored. He hears a rattling. Has the Engineer brought his truck all the way out here just to pick him up? Or was it the Doctor's Medi Gun charging up to remove the sudden lump in his throat?

Sniper lifts his head to get a better look.

"Shhhh," Spy coos, placing the Sniper's head back onto his lap. "You need to rest now."

"But we should…we should go…. Everyone's waiting."

"Do not concern yourself, mon ami. We will go when you are ready." The Spy's words rattled in his brain. Perhaps he was right. A little rest  
wouldn't kill him.

As the Sniper finally surrenders himself to sleep, he sees two small puncture wounds on his right bicep. Shutting his eyes, he wonders  
briefly what on earth those could be.

End.


End file.
